"I have been reading through this list and I fear I must ask you to indulge me once more. Is... anyone allowed to join?"
Algie sighed and turned again, pocketing the datapad. "I am afraid. My wife... she was always enamoured of Mister Strange, and rightly so in my opinion, for he was and remains the truest gentleman, Sir, the very truest. And I fear, Sir Guardsman, that she is... I hesitate to say the word. Her hair, for one, glows as gold when the light of a sunset catches it - and I have often remarked upon it, because she enjoys being told that she is beautiful, and I have no reason to lie and say that it is not so - save for a streak of crimson that frames the left of her face. Her skin is pale and she favours powders that make her paler. And, Sir Guardsman, she is more adept at magic than any I have seen, and I have seen many mighty magicians of the day! We entertained many, Sir, Perenelle is renowned for its hospitality and I am as proud of its reputation as a gentleman may be, and she has stunned them all to silence with her magic! I..." He wrung his hands. "You see why I am afraid."
And now that the Earl had mentioned it, the Guardsman probably did. Algie was a roundish sort of man whom, in his green frock-coat and powdered wig, resembled nothing so much as an inflated pea. His face was broad, his nose short and pointed, and his eyes a piercing blue and slightly too small for his features. The rest of him was nondescript, totally, totally nondescript. A common enough description for such as him, and most fitting.
"I love her," he said, "and Agamemnon loves her. Indeed, it is simply impossible not to! One would have to have a heart of stone! And I read of this organization and the devilry it faces and..." He trailed off, his shoulders drooping slightly. "I must apologise. This was a private matter and a private grief; I should not have inflicted my sorrows upon you. But I, I cannot... excuse me." He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose between two of his hands. "You see? This is a curious habit! I do this, this gesture almost akin to prayer when I am dealing with extremes of temperament, and it is a habit that I have had since I was but a boy, and yet when I have been at Perenelle I cannot recall a single instance in which I have done it! This, this pistol," he scrabbled at his belt and pulled it out, "it is half of a matching pair with my good lady wife's, and she is a keener shot than a Greenjacket! I do not want this to be so, Sir Guardsman! I do not want to deprive Agamemnon of his mother, when my own was t-taken from me when I was but half his age, and which tragedy I am only recalling now! I do not want this!"
